


Shadows And Light

by FebobeFic_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, graphic medical detail
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FebobeFic_Archivist/pseuds/FebobeFic_Archivist
Summary: A Birthday-Tale In Thirteen Vignettes.  UNFINISHED
Kudos: 1





	1. Shadowfall

**Author's Note:**

> For Lily Baggins (LB)

Which was worse?

I couldn't decide, but I thought about it. . .anything to take my mind off the pain. 

Only nothing helped.

Another cold sweat drenched the back of my night-shirt, and I felt my stomach twist as another rush of pain came, dropping my head as I retched, vomiting into the lap of my gown again. Blast, I had only one change with me, and it was probably still damp from the rainy weather, having been in a less protected position in my pack. But there was nothing for it: my stomach was still in disarray, and the other end was not cooperating at all either. . . .

Which was worse, one or the other. . .or the fact that I had had to dart behind the curtain in view of Strider, who was still a stranger to me? I had half hoped that Sam might wake and come to me, to help me, but I could still hear him snoring beside Merry and Pippin. We were all so worn out. . . .

"Frodo?"

My stomach caught. The strange big person's voice.

"Frodo, are you all right?"

"I. . .I'll be back to bed shortly."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Memories flooded my memory: when I had been ill with stomach flu, Bilbo or Sam had always cared for me. . .helping me to undress, bringing me ginger tea and sponging me down, helping me into a comfortable position in a clean, fresh bed. . .remaining patiently by my side. . .preparing delicate dishes for me as I started to feel better. . . .

That thought went a step farther than I could manage, and my bowels emptied again, pouring out more than I knew they could by this point. My stomach tightened as well, and it took a few minutes before I could answer.

"My. . .my nightshirt's in my pack. . . . If you wouldn't mind. . .laying it near the fire. . . ." He was a stranger, after all. The thought of any of the Big People. . .well, they. . .they wouldn't understand. Gandalf might have, had he been here.

But he wasn't. 

Footsteps came and went softly. "It is quite damp still, Frodo. Are you sure there is nothing I can do to help? I am not new to healing. . .I was brought up in the house of Elrond, and my foster-father did tutor me in those arts. As rough as I look, I assure you that you have nothing to fear."

I hesitated.

The footsteps remained still.

"I. . .I'm sick; if you can wake Sam, he'd come and help, but. . .I can't come out, and I. . .I'm sorry. . .I may have to open a window, or. . . ."

"Sam is exhausted. Perhaps you will allow me to assist you?" Before I could protest, footsteps crossed behind the curtain, and Strider knelt before me, keen eyes swiftly taking in the scene: me, sitting uncomfortably on the now-quite-full chamber-pot, night-shirt held up at the hem to maintain it as something of a makeshift basin, where I had already vomited, arms pressed against my cramping belly, my gown and hair now soaked through with sweat. Surprisingly, he seemed unshaken: within minutes, sure hands were rolling the gown up loosely, drawing it carefully over my head, holding it out so as to keep the soiled portion well away from my face. I reddened, but he simply rose, returning shortly and wiping a damp cloth over my face, down my chest, back, and arms, lightly over my belly. At last he wrapped a blanket about me.

"Let us put you to bed, then, shall we? Your clean night-shirt is by the fire, but I think it will be easier if we leave you in blankets until you begin to feel better."

I nodded weakly, feeling too dizzy to debate the matter. It felt so good to be gathered into his arms, a towel placed over my backside, and taken into his arms. I felt quite certain I was feverish, and wanted only to rest, to feel some vague relief from the horrible sense of nausea and pain still coursing in waves through my body. 

And *home.*

How desperately I wished we were *home.*


	2. Candlelight

So sturdy, yet so fragile.

All of the hobbits were sturdy-looking little creatures, with thick curly hair and little round bellies, though the one of which Mithrandir had spoken was a little taller and slimmer, and I could hardly help remembering the wizard's chuckling as he recounted for me Bilbo's frustrations with the lad. ('Won't eat enough to keep a kitten alive! Goodness, Gandalf, what am I to with the boy? They'll pack him back off to Buckland for certain - it's already whispered I'm not fit influence for a growing tween!') Yet he had woken with such a start, looking so pale, that I had at once guessed what might be the matter. . .and I was relieved, in truth, when at last the little hobbit allowed me to retrieve him from the only semi-private area of the room. 

The chamber-pot was filled nearly to the brim, and the night-shirt was, without question, completely ruined. I had seen men wear such garments again, when well rinsed, washed, and repeatedly boiled, but only under worse conditions, and certainly we would not begun this journey thus. Determining to have the gown thrown out for burning, I looked about, glad to spy another chamber-pot beneath the edge of the bed. Thank goodness.

Frodo was shaking, trembling palpably in my arms, though he was hot to the touch, and sticky with sweat. He needed to lie down. . .and to be cleaned up. There were only chairs in the room, save for the bed, but I could hardly risk going to their original room, or sending the other three back there. . .not tonight. And yet I would not be able to tend Frodo properly without disturbing his companions. . .not to mention that he needed room to turn comfortably and be helped with relieving himself, and while all four could fit quite comfortably in the human-sized bed, I seriously doubted that much privacy was possible under such conditions. . . .

"Strider?"

A practical but still smooth-spoken tone, slightly accented, woke me, the pronounciation closer to Frodo's than to that used by the other two. One of the hobbits sat up, rubbing his eyes, frowning as he saw me cradling the bundle which, though wrapped in blanket and towel and nothing else, was clearly their companion. 

"Strider, what's happened? Is something the matter?"

Merry. The one who had been caught out earlier.

I nodded gently, keeping my voice quiet to avoid waking the others unnecessarily. "Frodo has been taken ill. He is very sick."

Brown eyes widened anxiously, and the blue-eyed bundle in my arms stirred protestingly. "I'll. . .be fine, Merry. . .really. . . ."

"Sticklebacks you will." At once Merry clambered onto the top of the covers, shaking his companions. "Pip! Sam! Wake up, now - Frodo needs to lie down, and we're in the way, I'm sure, not to mention he could probably use some help - Pip!" As Sam promptly started from slumber, blinking in embarrassment even as his snores cut off, the other turned his attention to elbowing the youngest of the quartet, poking him insistently in a way that made me feel almost like laughing. Within moments the gardener was already out of bed, waddling swiftly to the washbasin and pouring water, returning to my side with a freshly-wrung-out cloth, looking slightly disconcerted as he discovered he could reach little more than his master's toes with my current position. I settled carefully onto my knees, keeping Frodo cradled against me to avoid jostling him, which allowed Sam to stroke back the dark curls, patting fair features with the soothing cloth. Still trying to rouse Pippin, Merry began to explain, his tone eminently pragmatic.

"Strider, we can manage. I've stayed with Frodo when he's been ill before, and Sam takes care of him. . .and it isn't as if we haven't all been ill before enough to have an idea what to do. Most of it's really just hobbit-sense. Once I get our little slug-a-bed up and going long enough to get him to one of the chairs or somesuch, I'll be glad to take Frodo. . . ."

"No. I would rather not risk it. There is already some chance that you may become ill as well, depending upon the cause." I dared not say much more, but I had seen too many bouts of illness make their rounds through villages like Bree, and I had been in town enough to know that, while the brew might go down well at the Pony, now and again there might be an ailing cook or an off bit of meat or milk or butter. It was common everywhere except Imladris and the Shire, from what I could tell. . .Elrond had explained it to me along with the other fallibilities of our different natures, of the dangers that we the Secondborn faced. And hobbits, too, were so subject. 

"Thank you, Sam." In my arms, Frodo managed a weak smile, though he blinked tiredly, as one in pain might. Allowing Sam to continue bathing his face, I bent over him gingerly.

"Frodo. . .can you recall what you had to eat and drink within the last day or so? It may be very important. . . ." 

"Mer*ry*! I was having the loveliest dream, all about jam-tarts, and Pervinca being found out by Mamma and Papa - " Protesting, Pippin sat up, only to be promptly shushed by his elder cousin. Frodo shuddered at the mention of jam-tarts, promptly curling up against me. . .a sign that worried me. He seemed already ill enough to respond without his earlier apprehension, and I feared that he must have been feeling very sick indeed.

"How far back into the. . .the last day? We had light meals on the road. . .but I can go all the way back to first breakfast if. . .if you need me to. . .except I feel faint. . .please. . .Strider. . . ."

Swiftly I straightened, laying him gingerly upon the bed, smoothing still-warm pillows and sheets as I eased him down and turned him onto his side. Merry had managed to drag Pippin from bed, and those two seemed to be conversing while Sam hovered with the cool cloth.

A feverish little hobbit, and one no doubt miserable enough without having the required nursing witnessed by everyone. Clearing my throat, I looked up.

"Merry, Pippin. . .go and find Nob, Bob, or Butterbur; see whether they have a trundle bed, extra towels and blankets, and a few extra-wash-basins and a spare chamber-pot or two. I'll be perfectly happy to show whatever coin he wants for them, only no wasting time from him about it. Some water might not go amiss, either. . .warm to bathe with, cool for drinking. Even bits of ice if he has them."

They eyed me for a moment, but Merry nodded briskly, dragging his cousin along and exchanging knowing looks with Sam that I somehow felt certain said more than I could tell. 

"I. . .let's see. . .we ate with Tom. . .in the morning. . .and then tonight. . .supper. . .soup, and a blackberry tart, and cold meats. . .fresh bread. . .butter. . .ripe cheese. . .and beer. . .just plain food, like home, really. . .we'd eaten so little all day, too. . . ."

Hobbits and their meals. I could hardly help smiling. "All of you?"

"Yes. . .we all had some of everything. . . ." Still shuddering despite the blanket, he gave a tremulous sigh, curling up a bit. "And. . .there was after. . .we all had beer, but. . .I wanted something a bit more. . .hadn't had as much meat or cheese, and thought an. . .an eggnog might be nice. . .so I had that. . .but nothing with it. . .that's all."

"Did the others have anything else?"

"Just. . .more beer, I think. That's all."

I looked at Sam. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Right as rain. Same with Master Merry and Master Pippin, I'm sure, judgin' from how they looked." He bent over the bed, his expression anxious as he offered me the cloth and fetched the washbasin, setting it close by. . .no foolish choice, given that it seemed increasingly possible that Frodo might vomit again. "Is Mister Frodo going to be all right?"

"We shall see. I think he has merely eaten something that has not been good for him, or has something going around Bree. . .in either case, once the others return, we will get you all settled so you can rest while I tend to him." 

I glanced back at the tiny figure, rubbing his back in what I hoped was the soothing fashion my foster-father had used when I was ill during my younger years, the small face half-buried in the pillow and sheened with sweat.

"I will take good care of him. You have my word."


End file.
